Chapter Nine
Reece
Three weeks into this thing with Ava, three weeks of dating, or not dating if she has anything to say about it, and tonight she’s coming to my apartment for the first time. It has never looked cleaner.
I’ve wiped down the counters twice, fluffed pillows I didn’t know could be fluffed, and checked the refrigerator four times to make sure I have the oat milk she likes. Mack would never let me live this down if he could see me now, stress-cleaning before a girl comes over.
Except Ava isn’t any girl. She’s the reason I’ve been pitching career-best numbers, I smile at my phone during team meetings, and why I’m currently debating whether my apartment smells too much like the candle my mom sent me for Christmas.
My phone buzzes with a call.
“I’m downstairs. This better not be a trap.”
I grin, heading for the intercom. “It’s not a trap. It’s dinner.”
“You said you’d cook.”
“I can cook.”
“Athletes always say they can cook. Then it’s burned steak and undercooked pasta.”
“Ye of little faith.”
I buzz her in and prop my apartment door open, waiting by the elevator. Whatever smart remark I had prepared dies completely when the doors slide open.
Ava steps out, wearing a baseball cap pulled low and sunglasses, despite it being seven at night, and we’re indoors. She’s got her hands shoved in the pockets of an oversized hoodie, looking for all the world like she’s about to rob me.
“Subtle,” I say, fighting back a laugh.
“I’m incognito.” She pushes past me into the apartment.
“You look suspicious.”
“Same thing.” She pulls off the sunglasses, glancing around. “Nice place. Very… clean.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’ve seen locker rooms. My expectations were low.” She wanders toward the kitchen, running a finger along the counter. “But this is almost impressive. Did you hire someone?”
“I cleaned it myself, thank you very much.”
“For me?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
She turns, grinning. “Too late.”
God, she’s beautiful. Standing in my kitchen with her guard down, teasing me, comfortable enough to be here. The past few weeks have been a masterclass in patience, watching her walls come down brick by brick. Every smile feels earned, and every laugh, a victory.
“What are you making?” she asks, peering into a pot on the stove.
“Risotto.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Fancy.”
“I have layers.”
“You have arrogance.”
“Same thing.”
She laughs, and the sound does something to my chest. I move behind her, reaching around to stir the pot. She doesn’t step away. Her back presses against my front, and I feel her breath catch.
“This smells good,” she says quietly.
“I am full of surprises.”
“Apparently.”
I rest my chin on her shoulder, and she leans back into me. This right here is what I’ve been working toward. Not the kissing or the sneaking around, though I’m definitely not complaining about it either. But this ease between us. The way she fits against me without thinking about it.
“How long until it’s done?” she asks.
“Ten minutes.”
“What do we do for ten minutes?”
I press a kiss to her neck, and she shivers. “I have ideas.”
“Of course you do.”
She turns in my arms, tilting her face up. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown. I’ve kissed her dozens of times by now, but it never gets old. Every time feels new. Urgent.
I cup her face, my thumbs brushing her jaw. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.”
“Glad you came.”
“I’m here for the food.”
“Liar.”
“Maybe.” She pulls me down, and I meet her halfway.
The kiss starts softly and gently. Then her hands fist in my shirt, tugging me closer, and soft goes out the window. I back her against the counter, one hand sliding into her hair, the other gripping her hip. She makes this sound, half gasp, half moan, and I swear I see stars.
“Reece,” she breathes out against my mouth.
“Yeah?”
“The risotto.”
“What about it?”
“It’s going to burn.”
I pull back far enough to turn off the burner without actually letting go of her. “Fixed.”
“Efficient.”
“I’m a problem solver.”
She laughs, and I swallow the sound with another kiss. Her hands slide under my shirt, nails scraping lightly against my abs. I groan, and she smiles against my mouth.
“You’re dangerous,” I mutter.
“You’re one to talk.”
I lift her onto the counter, stepping between her legs. She wraps them around my waist immediately, pulling me closer. Her cap falls off, and I thread my fingers through her hair, angling her head for better access.
“We should eat,” she says, even as her hands map the muscles of my back.
“In a minute.”
“Reece.”
“Ava.” I kiss along her jaw, down her neck. “Food can wait.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You’re into it.”
She is. I can feel it in the way she arches into me, the way her breathing has gone ragged. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, and I nip at her collarbone, earning another one of those sounds I’m quickly becoming addicted to.
My phone buzzes on the counter beside us.
We both ignore it.
It buzzes again.
And again.
“Someone’s persistent,” Ava murmurs, but she doesn’t stop kissing my neck.
“Not important.”
Another buzz and then two more in quick succession.
Ava pulls back, frowning. “You should check. Could be your coach.”
“It’s not Bishop.” I reach for my phone without looking, intending to silence it.
Ava’s faster. She grabs it first, glancing at the screen. Her expression shifts. Shutters close so fast I almost miss it.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She hands me the phone, sliding off the counter. “Your ex is chatty.”
I look at the screen. Five notifications from Instagram. All from Lena.
My stomach drops.
I open the app, already knowing this won’t be good. Lena doesn’t do casual. Everything she posts is strategic, calculated to get maximum attention.
The photograph loads, and yep, there it is.
It’s old. Maybe six months before we broke up. We’re at some charity event, dressed up, her arm tucked under mine. She’s smiling at the camera. I’m looking off to the side, probably at something else entirely, but the framing makes it look intimate… couple-y, and the caption reads…
Some connections never really end. :)
#ThrowbackThursday #MissingThis
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“Subtle,” Ava says from across the kitchen. She’s leaning against the far counter now, arms crossed. The distance between us feels like miles.
“This is old. We’ve been done for months.”
“I know.”
“She posts stuff all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Okay.”
“Ava.” I set the phone down and step closer, stopping just short of her. Not crowding her. Not touching her. “This is nothing. She’s fishing for attention.”
“I believe you.”
“You don’t sound like you believe me.”
“I said I do.” Her tone is light, casual. Too casual. “It’s fine, Reece. You have a past. So do I. I’m not twelve.”
But there’s something in her eyes. Something guarded. The walls I spent weeks coaxing down are slamming back into place, and I can practically hear the locks clicking.
“Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Your ex posted a photo. It happens.” She pushes off the counter, heading for her bag. “I should probably go anyway. It’s getting late.”
“It’s seven-thirty.”
“And I have an early appointment tomorrow.”
“Ava…”
“The risotto smells great. You should eat before it gets cold.” She pulls on her cap and tugs the hood of her hoodie over it, moving with purpose, like she can’t get out fast enough.
I catch her wrist gently. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Run. You’re looking for an excuse to bolt, and Lena’s post is convenient.”
“I’m not running. I’m being practical.” But she won’t meet my eyes. “This is what we said, right? Casual. No drama. Your ex posts photos, and I pretend not to care. Simple.”
“Except you do care.”
“I don’t.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Ava finally looks at me, and there it is. Hurt. Jealousy. Fear. All the things she’s trying so hard to hide.
“What do you want me to say?” she asks quietly.
“That seeing you with her bothers me? That I read her caption, trying to figure out what she’s implying?
And I’m wondering if ‘some connections never really end’ means she’s planning a comeback tour?
” Ava pulls her wrist free. “Because all of those things are ridiculous. We’ve only been seeing each other for a short period of time.
I have no right to feel anything about your ex. ”
“You have every right.”
“No, I don’t. This is casual, remember? Your rules. My rules. No expectations.”
“Screw the rules.”
She blinks. “What?”
“Screw them. The casual thing, the no expectations thing. It was working until about five minutes ago, and now it’s not.
” I step closer. “You want to know what I think about Lena’s post?
I think it’s pathetic. I think she saw me leave your studio weeks ago and has been spiraling ever since.
She’s trying to remind the world we were together because she can’t stand losing relevance. ”
“That’s not—”
“I’m not done.” I reach up, cupping her face. “I think she picked tonight specifically because somehow she knows I’ve moved on. And I think you seeing it bothers you because you’re starting to care about this. About us. And caring means vulnerability, which terrifies you.”
Ava’s eyes are wide. “Reece…”
“I’m terrified too,” I admit. “Because three weeks ago, this was supposed to be fun. Uncomplicated. And now?” I shake my head.
“Now, I check my phone every five minutes, hoping you’ve texted.
I pitch better because I know you’re watching.
And the idea of you walking out because my ex is being vindictive makes me want to throw my phone through a window. ”
“That’s not casual,” she whispers.
“No, it’s really not.”
We stand there, the truth hanging between us. I can see her processing, walls wavering. Ava could run right now, and part of me wouldn’t blame her.
This got complicated fast.
And complicated is exactly what we promised to avoid.
Instead, she says, “She’s really pretty.”
I laugh. Can’t help it. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
“She’s an influencer. She’s got perfect hair and perfect skin and probably takes perfect selfies.”
“And you’re you.” I tilt her chin up. “You’re brilliant and sarcastic and so beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes.
You create art that people carry with them forever.
You challenge me, you call me on my ego, and you make me want to be better at everything.
” I kiss her forehead. “Lena’s pretty… you’re extraordinary. There is no competition.”
“You’re biased.”
“I’m honest.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, “What does she want?”
“Attention. A reaction. Maybe me back, though she lost her shot at any of those over six months ago.”
“What if she doesn’t stop? What if she keeps posting things, keeps inserting herself?”
“Then I’ll deal with it. Publicly, if I have to.” I brush a strand of hair from her face. “But right now, I’m more concerned about you. Are we okay?”
Ava searches my face, and I let her see everything. The want, the fear, the absolute certainty I feel about her.
Finally, she exhales. “I don’t want to be the girl who freaks out over ex drama.”
“You’re not freaking out. You’re being human.”
“I hate feeling jealous. It’s beneath me.”
“It’s not beneath you. It’s proof you care.”
“I don’t want to care this much already.”
“Too late.” I grin. “You’re invested. Admit it.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“Same thing.”
But she’s smiling now, and the tension in her shoulders has eased. I pull her close, and she comes willingly, wrapping her arms around my waist.
“For the record…” she mumbles against my chest, “… if she posts another photo, I’m breaking something.”
“Noted.”
“Something expensive.”
“I have insurance.”
She pinches my side, and I laugh, catching her hand.
“Stay,” I say. “Have dinner. Let me prove my risotto skills are genuine.”
“What about Lena?”
“What about her? She’s not here. You are.” I tip her chin up. “And I’d much rather spend tonight with you than waste another second thinking about my ex.”
Ava considers this, then nods slowly. “Okay. But if the risotto is bad, I’m leaving.”
“Deal.”
I kiss her, slowly and thoroughly, and when we break apart, she’s smiling again. The real smile. The one she reserves for moments when her guard is completely down.
“You really cleaned for me?” she asks.
“Vacuumed and everything.”
“That’s kind of adorable.”
“I prefer impressively thoughtful.”
“Nope. Definitely adorable.” She pulls away, heading back to the kitchen. “Come on, feed me before I change my mind.”
I follow, watching her settle onto a barstool, pulling out her phone to silence it. My phone is still on the counter, Lena’s post glowing on the screen.
I pick it up, archive the notification, and block her account.
Should have done it months ago.
Ava watches me, eyebrows raised. “What are you doing?”
“Eliminating distractions.” I pocket the phone. “You’re right, this is beneath both of us. So now it’s handled.”
“You blocked her?”
“Yep.”
“Won’t she notice?”
“Probably. Don’t care.” I serve the risotto, sliding a bowl in front of her. “Now, prepare to be amazed by my culinary skills.”
She takes a bite, and her eyes widen. “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“This is actually good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am surprised. Athletes can’t usually—” She stops, catching herself. “Sorry. Stereotyping.”
“It’s fine. Most athletes can’t cook. I’m exceptional.”
“And humble.”
“That too.”
She laughs, taking another bite. The earlier tension has dissipated almost completely. We’re back to easy, comfortable, the way it’s supposed to be.
But part of me knows this won’t be the last time Lena tries something. She doesn’t give up easily. Never has. And now that she knows I’ve moved on, she’ll push harder.
I glance at Ava, who’s telling me some story about a client who wanted a tattoo of their pet iguana. She’s animated, hands gesturing, completely present. Beautiful, unguarded, and entirely mine in this moment.
Whatever Lena throws at us next, we’ll handle it.
Together.
Because casual or not, rules or not, I’m in this now.
Fully and completely.
And I’m not letting go.